


the world lays back, puts a kid behind that gun

by gottabewhatomorrowneeds



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Morality, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Nonbinary Party Poison, Nonbinary Show Pony, basically Tommy’s the only one who sees the fab 4 as kids, dr. d is..... not a good person, everyone’s there but not as main characters, gratuitous chess metaphors, mad gear takes the place of mcr lol, the Fab Four are literally teens!!! and they die!!! that’s Bad!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottabewhatomorrowneeds/pseuds/gottabewhatomorrowneeds
Summary: Tommy Chow Mein knew exactly how the story would end. He watched the rise and fall of the original killjoys, watched as they were executed for their beliefs, for trying. He watched thousands of copycats try to spark an old revolution, and he watched them fail every time. Tommy Chow Mein knows exactly how this will end.And yet, there’s something about the Fab Four and their leader that makes him think maybe, just maybe, things might change.
Comments: 39
Kudos: 76





	the world lays back, puts a kid behind that gun

Tommy Chow Mein has seen the rise and fall of hundreds of killjoys. He's seen hundreds of them try to copy the original killjoys, those who had been veterans of the same wars he had fought in and tried to upheave the system that they fought for. He's seen so many imitators, so many false heroes who preach rebellion only to cower in the face of rising up. He's seen so many killjoys pretend to be fierce and fearless only to back out of dying for the cause they "believed" in.

He's watched children be slaughtered by BLi. He's watched adults saunter between good and evil. He's watched people cheat, lie, steal, and beg for everything and over anything in this world. He's seen every evil this world has to offer in all his years of living. 

He's seen those who fail to live up to the title of killjoy die as the cowards they always had been. At this point, Tommy can't bring himself to care about the rebellion anymore. No one believes in it. They only want to exploit the fight for freedom for their own gain. When the end comes reeling, no one wants to sacrifice themselves for the cause, because no else believes in it either.

He's being cynical, but he's also being realistic. BLi won't crumble, not in his lifetime. Because every person out there who has the power to do something has no will to bring that dream into fruition.

Tommy gave up believing a long, long time ago. 

Once the original killjoys had been publicly executed, and the public cried not anarchy but fear, Tommy saw the desert's true colors.

-

Tommy Chow Mein doesn’t like killjoys. They’re frauds, all of them. They copy the original five, the original leaders of the rebellion against BLi, but they don’t even understand what it is that they’re fighting for. They don’t understand the war they’re waging, the reason why rebellion is necessary.

Killjoys nowadays rebel simply because it’s cool. They don’t have a goal, they don’t have a purpose. They fight and rebel and mock BLi but they don’t have a bigger purpose than to simply annoy. 

They bellow and blow whistles about BLi and how terrible they are, but they don’t try to fix the system. They don’t try to resolve it. They just graffiti and laugh about. They don’t care.

These kids won’t die for this cause, because they don’t see it as a cause worth dying for. They think it’s a game, being a killjoy. They think it’s something to have fun doing. 

Tommy Chow Mein hates them, because they’re destroying everything those original killjoys worked for. He served with those five original killjoys, he watched them become veterans of a war they despised, and watched them try to speak out against the system that drafted them into a meaningless war. He watched them start a revolution, watched them spark the flames and fight against BLi in the name of doing something good. He watched them die for a cause they believed in, watched them become executed martyrs for freedom.

These killjoys, they smear their names with their talks of false rebellion, with their refusal to spark a true revolution. Their carelessness and refusal to give a true commitment to the cause makes Tommy’s blood boil.

Tommy Chow Mein hates killjoys. 

-

Dr. Death Defying, however, loves killjoys. He is constantly trying to recruit people into his war effort, and Tommy can’t stand his need to imitate the original killjoys. Every year, Dr. Death Defying tries to create a new group to spark a new revolution, and every year, they always fail.

Through cowardice, a lack of will, or just bad luck, those killjoys never last. Tommy loathes how often their blood is shed for a cause they don’t even care about. Because that’s the main issue: no one cares.

No one cares that BLi is a mega corporation killing their peers. No one cares about those mandatory pills. No one cares about their treatment of pornodroids. No one cares because no one thinks they can actually solve it.

Even the people Dr. D takes under his wing don’t believe in the cause. They never do, and that’s why they’ll always fail. Dr. D never manages to find anyone with the same spark he has, the same desire to destroy the system, the same determination to do whatever it takes. 

No one cares.

Tommy Chow Mein turns off his radio, sick of listening to his preaching of a future that won’t happen. Apathy runs too deep within the core of the people, and no matter what dreams Dr. D has, they won’t come true.

Dr. D is too optimistic. 

-

Eventually, Tommy turns the radio back on. Dr. D is the only news station he truly trusts- Newsagogo is a nice kid, but he doesn’t know her as well as he knows Dr. D. 

He needs to know what’s happening in the desert so he can prepare his store and stock properly. He needs to know who’s been dusted and who’s survived. He needs to know what Korse is up to, because that man is dedicated to eradicating Tommy’s store.

So he relents. He listens to his stories, stewing in anger with each one. 

An exterminator has broken out of Battery City, causing chaos in the aftermath in the city and the desert. The city is struggling to rectify such a public mistake, and the desert is reeling from the realization that anyone could be that fiend from BLi. Mistrust amongst peers and paranoia with every stranger evolves.

Raids seem to be at an all new high. Everyday, the list of those who are dusted continue to climb higher and higher. Gang fights are growing along with the general unease.

Territorial disputes continue to take lives. People are dying left and right, by BLi or by their own hand. The desert’s dysfunction is growing to unstable heights, and Tommy is beginning to feel nervous for the future.

At this rate, it seems that everyone’s going to die before Dr. D gets to have his dream come true.

-

Tommy listens to the radio at a minimum, not wanting to hear the constant bad news. There was never any good news, because nothing good ever happened in the zones. Tommy didn’t like to feel hopeless, but this situation is becoming desolate.

Still, word about BLi’s mass atrocities aren’t the only thing spreading.

There’s a new group in the zones called the Fabulous Four. They’re a gang of killjoys trying to get their name out there, and it feels as if they’re on the radio every other day with some new story. 

Tommy doesn’t listen to them much. Killjoys come and go. Besides, he doesn’t think they’ll last long. They don’t have that spark.

Either way, Dr. D seems to like them. There’s always a story about their new heroics. How they stopped a raid off of Route Guano, how they saved a gang of children from some exterminators, how they keep terrorizing the patrols of Dracs. The list goes on.

Tommy scoffs as Dr. D praises them. They’re nothing new. Just a bunch of stupid imitators fighting for a revolution they don’t actually care about.

When they do something actually noteworthy, something no other killjoy gang had done before, he’ll listen. When they show the same fierceness, the same passion, the same spark as the original five, he’ll care.

Until then, Tommy flicks through his magazine, blocking out the news story.

-

That killjoy gang seems to be gaining traction. Everyday people come inside his shop and he hears them speak of them with a hushed tone. They don’t have his respect, but they seem to be gaining the attention of everyone else.

Tommy Chow Mein pays closer attention to the radio. He doesn’t understand why they’re such a wildfire within the zones. What have they done? They’re just like every other imitator before them and they’ll be just like everyone after them. Haven’t the people in the desert seen enough false messiahs to stop having faith yet?

The leader of the group, Party Poison, becomes a near regular on the airwaves. At first, Tommy tunes them out. But after a few broadcasts, he allowed himself to listen. What’s so special about them?

Party Poison’s way with words is frankly outstanding. The guy can really twist their words into something inspiring. They’re calling for a unity within the zones, to stop all the gang violence so they can set their sights on the real villain, BLi. Party Poison preaches a unified community, preaches a revolution that will work as long as everyone learns to overcome their differences.

Something about this killjoy is different from all the others. Never had Tommy heard of a killjoy getting to broadcast themself, and never had they preached unity and peace within the community. 

Their voice is strange and sounds rather young. But the radio causes all sorts of distortion, so Tommy doesn’t think much of it. Besides, he knows Dr. Death Defying is likely guiding that new group, and there’s no way Dr. D would rope in some child for his cause. He’s enticed young people before, but they were always young adults. 

Tommy doesn’t have much hope for this new kid. They’re in way over their head if they think the community will ever come together. Besides, it’s likely all talk. The kid’s just in this for the fame, for getting to be on Dr. D’s radio show. They might change up their routine, might add a bit of pizazz to their words, but all killjoys end up being the same in the end.

Party Poison isn’t going to be a hero. They aren’t going to save anyone, because that’s not what they care about. They just want to become a legend.

Tommy flicks off the radio. He hates people who preach false peace.

-

He doesn't think about those broadcasts anymore. He continues to tune them out, because there’s no point in listening. People can talk about unity all they like, but Tommy has yet to see anything happen.

Though, if he thinks about it, the desert does seem to be settling down some. Lists of gang disputes and firefights caused by them seems to be trickling down ever so slowly. Maybe some people believe in those sermons.

It’s still not enough.

The ringing of his shop bell catches his ears. It’s been eerily quiet all day, so Tommy diverts his attention from the magazine in his hand to the door. It’s out of caution more so than curiosity.

A band of four children come inside, and he can hear their hollering from miles away. They chatter idly as they make their way inside, and they immediately head towards the back.

Tommy instantly recognises Jet Star. The kid is nice. He's known him since he was born, having been raised in the desert his entire life. Jet’s a bit too loud, a bit too friendly, and a bit too energetic. He reminds Tommy of the golden retriever he had before the wars- cute, clumsy, excitable, and always underestimating his size. Tommy doesn't hate him by any means, but he's just too nice for Tommy to be comfortable around. 

Still, Tommy tries to be nice to the kid. After all, Jet’s been nothing but kind to everyone he’s ever met, and Tommy knows that kid has seen shit. He knew his mothers before they had been executed, and he knew his gang before they had been dusted. The kid knows things no one should. 

Jet Star’s telling a story to some tall lanky kid Tommy knows as Kobra Kid. Kobra Kid is far too quiet for his liking. He's nice enough, and otherwise, Tommy has no problem with him- he's honestly the most tolerable kid he’s dealt with. He's polite and dry and has a wit sharper then the knives he likes to tote around. Once they strike up a conversation, the kid is fascinating to listen to. But he's too quiet, always analyzing, always plotting.

Tommy knows exactly three facts about the kid- he knows Kung Fu, he likes magazines, and he has a missing younger sibling. Tommy would like to keep it that way. Knowing too much about someone often leads to attachment. 

A gremlin with permanently greasy hair tags behind them, interrupting them as he runs his hands on every available surface, spreading his germs on every item in the shop. The kid’s name is Fun Ghoul, and Tommy has a lot of opinions about that boy. He doesn't like Fun Ghoul. He's annoying and bratty and frankly, quite stupid. Tommy knew his parents from the war and knew them as killjoys. He knew them as the True Killjoys, the killjoys Dr. D is always trying to emulate despite the fact that they've been dead for twelve years. Despite the fact that they failed.

But Tommy liked his parents. A bit too optimistic and bright eyed, but they had level heads. They had compassion deep within them, a true desire to save their peers and right their wrongs, unlike so many of their future copies who only feel rage and a desire to gain fame. They were two of the five original killjoys, and Tommy Chow Mein would respect them for that fact alone. 

But Ghoul is nothing like them. Ghoul is angry and coarse and enjoys demolitions way too much. Ghoul is impassive and uncaring and far too reckless. It's probably mean to despise him so much, but it irks Tommy to no end that this is how he ended up. He’s an asshole who likes to stir up trouble just for the fun of it. 

Tommy Chow Mein knows them, because they’ve lived in the desert for a long, long time. Jet Star was born there, Fun Ghoul’s been there since he was three, and the Kobra Kid’s been lurking around since he was ten. He’s known these kids for a while now, watched them group up and watched them become friends. Though if he had any say, he’d have kicked out Fun Ghoul a while ago. 

Still, he doesn’t think much of them as they walk around. Even Ghoul can be tolerable, as long as he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he sets his eyes on the remaining person.

There’s a fourth kid. They have cherry red hair and sharp eyes that wander about the store in a way that shows they’re not just looking for produce. There’s something strange about them, a bit mechanical, tense, unlike the rest of their friends. They offer a terrible joke when Jet Star takes a breath from his story, which earns them a three way glare.

Tommy Chow Mein watches them, not out of curiosity but for security. He doesn’t know who this child is, and he needs to make sure they won’t steal something. Jet Star and Kobra Kid are nice and honest enough kids, but Fun Ghoul’s enough of a possible influence to make Tommy on edge.

The kid with red hair claps their hands. “Alright, y’all remember what we came in here for?”

They have a pretty thick Battery City accent. Tommy leans against the counter, pretending to be disinterested but keeping his eyes on the kid. They seem strangely average. Average height, right in between Jet and the gremlin Ghoul. Probably used to be average weight before they left for the desert. Tommy can’t see many of their facial features behind their mask, but nothing seems out of place or crooked, like Jet Star’s nose or Ghoul’s teeth or Kobra Kid’s slightly off centered eyes.

Tommy rolls his eyes. Probably was a real hit in the city. Already, Tommy doesn’t like them. They’ve got the physical attributes half of Battery City would die for and the other half would kill for. Why would they breach?

“Yeah, yeah!” Ghoul shoved the red head. “I gotta get stuff for my bombs, Jet’s gonna get some food, Kobra’s going to pretend to be looking for some tools but he’s really gonna pilfer the magazines, and you’re gonna get your hair dye and probably some new clothes.”

The red head snaps their fingers. “Perfect! Now let’s get this over with, because my roots are coming in and I want nothing more than to dye them.”

They spread out and they do exactly as Ghoul predicted. Ghoul’s fucking around with some gasoline cans, probably thinking about drinking it. Jet Star is gauging the prices of Power Pup. Kobra Kid is twirling a screwdriver while running his fingers along the spine of the latest editions of MURDER. The kid with red hair is staring at the clothing section, looking strangely overwhelmed.

The kid must be just out of Battery City then. He watches them finger some of the leather jackets hanging up, and he notices their clothes. They look way too big on them, and they look suspiciously like something Jet has worn. 

The kid lets go of the fabric and clutches the hair dye tightly. The clothing prices are high, Tommy will admit, but his clothes are always in mint condition. Those kids probably couldn’t afford it.

Ghoul seems to have found what he was looking for and is now harassing Kobra Kid, who’s still twirling that same screwdriver. They’re both in the music section, and he’s certain he can hear some sort of dare being made.

Dr. D’s daily report goes off in the background. Tommy goes back to reading his magazine, listening idly. There’s been a riot in Zone One, right by the city wall. Party Poison’s being cited as the reason for the frenzy after giving a speech about breaking down walls, and apparently those people were trying to do just that. Dracs entered the scene and everyone fled; none were injured.

Tommy ignores the blaring pop music that comes out of the speakers. The people fled, continuing to show their yellow colour. But they still showed up, all because of a few words. Tommy doesn’t hope, but damn, that’s something new.

The red headed kid sets some hair dye on the counter. They start fishing for some carbons, and Tommy watches them, thinking about how familiar they feel. Their voice is definitely something he’s heard before, but he knows he’s never seen this kid before. He knows everyone in this desert like the back of his hand.

“What’s your name?” He finally asks. After all, it’s important to know the names of his clients. Especially if they end up stealing something and Tommy has to ban them.

The kid glanced up, raising a brow. “Don’t you listen to Dr. D’s broadcasts?”

“On occasion.” Tommy doesn’t like the patronising tone.

They flip their hair. “The name’s Party Poison. Ring a bell?”

No.

Tommy squints at the kid. And that is definitely a child in front of him, barely the same age as Kobra Kid. There’s no way this is the person on the airwaves, creating riots with just their words.

(There’s no way Dr. D is sending out child soldiers. No, he couldn’t be. His morals may have become twisted in his attempts to end BLi, but there are lines a person just can’t cross.)

“Sounds familiar,” Tommy relents, counting out the carbons. “From the Fab Four?”

“Ah, so you have heard of us.” Party Poison points to their friends. Ghoul is trying to deepthroat a recorder, and Jet Star looks like he’s going to be sick. “That’s us.”

Tommy stares at the children. Ghoul is turning blue, Jet Star is turning green, and Kobra Kid looks ready to either die or kill. “Huh.”

Party Poison turns around. Tommy can feel them go through the seven stages of grief before they yell, “Ghoul! Take that out of your mouth! No one wants to see this!”

They strut towards him, and Tommy can hear them mutter, “Besides, I should have been included in this bet. I could get that whole thing down my throat. And now we just ruined our first impressions.”

Tommy goes back to reading his magazine, suppressing a chuckle. He needs to talk to Dr. Death Defying, because either that kid is lying, or Dr. D has done something unprecedented.

-

Tommy tried to get in contact with the doctor, but it’s always a bust. Cherri Cola always answers his radio calls, and always answers with the same thing, “Sorry Tommy, but Dr. D’s busy. I can leave a message, though.”

And Tommy always answers back with a few profanities and a refusal to leave a message. God, that crazy bastard’s being such an ass. Dr. D is obviously avoiding him. He knows he’s going to get an earful from him, and he’s damn right!

In any case, the Fab Four’s popularity continues to skyrocket. People are absolutely enamoured with Party Poison and their ability to give pep talks. 

And they’re not all just talk. Those killjoys are action, too. They continue to fight against the Drac patrols and continue to give out a helping hand to those in need. It’s nice to see, and it makes something warm stir inside of Tommy, but he pushes it aside. 

Those kids are going to fucking die. They’re kids. Jet Star’s barely seventeen. Kobra and Ghoul are sixteen. Tommy isn’t sure how old Party Poison is, but there’s no way they’re older than Jet Star. They’re just kids, and they’re trying to save the world.

Tommy hates Dr. D, and he hates what society is coming to.

-

Nearly three weeks later, Party Poison appears out of the blue. The rest of his gang follows him inside, and Tommy watches idly. Just in case Party Poison or Ghoul tries to steal something.

Party Poison seems to have a new look. They’re wearing a bright blue jacket now and their hair’s been freshly cut. They look suspiciously goth, wearing all black besides their jacket.

Tommy goes back to his magazine. The Fab Four sure are a strange bunch. Tommy can’t imagine that all the help they’re offering to the people of the desert is just for fame, but that has to be it. There’s no way they’re actually trying to spark a true revolution.

They’re just a bunch of teenagers.

“Okay,” he hears Ghoul start. “It’s Monday, so you know what that means!”

He hears cans spill on the floor. Jet Star rammed into the Power Pup in his excitement. “It’s ‘what messed up shit can we do to get in Dr. D’s broadcast!’”

Oh, boy.

Party Poison tosses a box of hair dye in the air. “Today I’m thinking we should crash that party over at Zone Five. I hear there’s a disco ball.”

Kobra Kid snags his own box of hair dye. “What if we hijack their playlist?”

“Hot Chimp’s the DJ,” Jet states. “She’ll kill us.”

“Yeah, but come on. We could play ‘What’s New Pussycat?’!”

“Hey, Tommy!” Ghoul spins around on his heels, and Tommy sends him a glare that almost causes him to hesitate. “You know Dr. D, right? Maybe you can help us get under his skin.”

“No, I do not know who Dr. Death Defying is,” Tommy manages to say with not only a straight face but an empty tone. Dr. D’s traffic report begins in the background. Jet Star gives him an equally flat look.

“Huh.” Ghoul does not pick up on the audio clue. “Never mind. Anyway, yeah I like that idea. Let’s crash it.”

“Not like we have anything better to do on a Monday night, anyway.” Party Poison sets the box on the counter, and so does Kobra Kid. They count out a couple of carbons.

“You kids in good contact with Dr. D?” Tommy asks, an idea forming. 

Party Poison raises a brow. “How come?”

“I need to chat with him, but he keeps saying he’s too busy. Mind hackling the old man into calling me?”

“Eh, no problem.” Ghoul fiddles with a bouncy ball. Tommy resists the urge to snatch it out of his hand. “We’re plenty good at being obnoxious.”

“Trust me, I know.”

Jet Star sniggers. Party Poison shoves the carbons at the man. Tommy counts them out, making sure he isn’t being swindled. 

“How old are you kids, anyway?” He asks, because that’s also been on his mind, and there’s no subtle way to find out.

“Seventeen,” Jet Star answers.

“Sixteen,” Kobra Kid mutters.

“Sixteen and a half,” Ghoul proudly answers, and Kobra sends him a flat look.

Party Poison hesitates. “Sixteen.”

“Aw, is the baby afraid of admitting they’re the baby?” Ghoul preens. “Kobra, your baby sibling’s trying to be your twin!”

Party Poison turns a glare so fierce on Ghoul that if Ghoul had even half a fuck to give, it would have done physical damage. Instead, Ghoul just laughs even harder. Kobra seems bored. 

“Fine, fifteen.” Party Poison snatched the hair dye off the counter. “And a quarter.”

“Whatever,” Tommy waves a hand, pretending with ease that none of this mattered. “I won’t remember this conversation tomorrow, so you could be seven for all I care.”

Ghoul howls with laughter. Tommy’s brimming with anger, and yes, he acknowledges that he shouldn’t be, but damn, Ghoul just makes him angry. It wasn’t that funny.

“Anyway, come back again, except Ghoul.” He flicks the pages of his magazine. “I’ll give you a discount if Ghoul doesn’t come.”

Cheers erupted from everyone but Ghoul as they walked out together. Tommy smiled, very softly, as he watched them load up their car.

Except the information he managed to gather manages to knock the smile off his face. Fifteen. Party Poison is fifteen, and they’re in charge of leading some sort of new wave rebellion. They’re supposed to be willing to die for this revolution. Fifteen.

And Party Poison is Kobra’s missing sibling? Tommy’s glad the two found each other; Kobra Kid’s been moping about Party Poison ever since he stepped foot in the desert. He’s not sure how Party Poison went missing, and never cared enough to ask, but now he’s a little… curious. 

Still. He needs to talk to Dr. D. None of this is looking good.

-

One day, not long after his last encounter with the Fab Four, Dr. Death Defying comes rolling into his shop. It’s been a few months since the radio host himself appeared, but old habits are easy to fall into. Tommy brings out the beaten chess board the two of them have been playing on for fifteen years, and sets up the pieces. It’s a tradition they have nearly every week to play a game of chess together, one that started long before the wars, when they were two children who simply liked to play board games.

Tommy and Dr. D were brothers. Half brothers, actually. They were related through marriage, but their bond was still as strong as that of blood. It used to be, anyway. There are only three people in the entire desert that know they are related- Tommy, Dr. D, and Dr. D’s chatty and infuriating assistant, Show Pony. That fucker had eavesdropped on one of their conversations, and now holds one of Tommy’s most important secrets. 

He hears Cherri Cola’s pick up truck leave the shop. It’s just them and this chess board then. 

They set up the pieces on the counter. Tommy keeps the radio off, and the store is deathly quiet. There’s a tension between the two of them, something thick. Dr. D knows exactly what Tommy wants to talk about, and is probably using his last bit of shame to feel guilt for the topic. Good.

“I guess you finally got my message,” Tommy finally stated as he makes the first move. He pushes his left most pawn upwards, and Dr. D watches with an odd intensity.

“Yes. The Fab Four called me from every radio they could get a hold of.” Dr. D rolled his eyes. “Every frequency they could find, they used. Cherri Cola’s truck wasn’t even safe from them. So here I am.”

Tommy smirks at that. Dr. D must have his hands full with those kids. But they did good on their word.

Another silence passes between them as they continue the game. Before the months long hiatus, the two would strike up at least a small chat during a game. But now Tommy knows why Dr. D went missing for those months, why he stopped showing up for their chess games. He was too busy playing chess with his newly acquired pawns.

Tommy knows exactly what Dr. D is going to ask before the first word is formed on his lips. He’s knows this man like he knows himself. They’ve known each other for more than thirty years, they were grown together, and they had fought in a war together. 

“What do you think of the Fabulous Four?” Dr. D asks, pushing forward a pawn.

Tommy moves his bishop a bit too aggressively. “I think your habit of turning children into soldiers is still going strong.”

“But what do you think of them?” A knight moves in front of pawn.

“I think they’re children, D.”

“Disregard that for a moment. I’m not here to argue over morality.”

“I think it’s awful.” Tommy slams his queen to the very last black square and stares Dr. Death Defying in the eye. “What you’ve done to these kids is horrifying. You’ve recruited young people before, but at least I could realistically call them young adults. They had years of experience they could call on. But this gang you’ve created? They’re literally children! The youngest is fifteen! Don’t you see how terrible that is?”

Dr. D regards his next move carefully, both in chess and in conversation. “I didn’t draft them, for fuck’s sake. Trust me, these kids came to me. They asked for my help. All of them.”

“You should have said no.” He moves a rook in front of Dr. D’s king. “They are children.”

Dr. D moves a bishop between the two pieces. “Children of war. They’re not innocent kids anymore. All of them have seen the worst both Bat City and the desert has to offer them. They’ve seen evil of all kinds, and they want to remedy that. Isn’t it a good thing that someone is finally trying to destroy the parasite of society?”

“And you think they can do it? You’re a delusional old man. They’re children. They don’t understand how the world works, because their years of experience is limited. Party Poison just left Battery City, and you want them to lead a rebellion?”

“Did they tell you that?” Dr. D snatched Tommy’s rook. Tommy’s knight snatched the doctor’s bishop.

“No. I can just pick up on clues. They’re still suffering from withdrawals. Withdrawals! And you’re forcing them to lead a revolution against a society they were just apart of! And they’re fifteen! Fifteen! You think a fifteen year old can save this entire desert? You think that fifteen year old can do the work of five war-torn veterans and actually succeed in destroying BLi?! You’re insane.”

“Party Poison is more than capable of making their own decisions, and so are their friends. They want to change the world. They want to do this. I’m not forcing them.”

“No, but you’re manipulating them. What did you promise them? Fame? Glory? Success? Are they as disillusioned as you to think that they’ll actually win? That those four teenagers can take down a corporation that’s been in power since before any of them were born? That’s killed half of those kids’ parents? Do they really think they’ll survive long enough to win?”

“Yes, because they can.” Dr. D is becoming irritated. “You’re horribly underestimating them. They’re the future of these zones, and unlike every other killjoy I’ve ever recruited, they want to do this. They want to take down BLi, not for personal gain or fame. They want to destroy that plague because they recognise the evil it is, and they refuse to cower before it. They are willing to stand up for themselves, not out of greed, but out of an actual desire to help people! They want to save the world. They aren’t imitators who run when the going gets tough. They would die for this revolution. They would become martyrs if they had too. They want to survive and bring a future worth fighting for, but they are willing to die for that future too.”

Tommy feels almost nauseous. “Don’t you realise that’s worse? That’s infinitely worse? Children shouldn’t be willing to die for anything! These kids should be goofing off like teenagers! They shouldn’t want to save the world, because that’s not their job! The adults should be cleaning up this mess, not some cocky fifteen year old who can talk real good and their friends! I don’t care if they want to do this, because they shouldn’t have to do this! They shouldn’t become soldiers, and you shouldn’t let them!”

“Without my help, they’re going to die.”

“With your help, they’re going to die!” 

A lull passes. Hot anger drenches Tommy’s entire core. “You’ve become a sick, sick man, Dr. D. You’ve become so twisted in your pursuit of justice that you’re becoming the enemy.”

“Don’t you dare-“

“BLi uses child soldiers, and now you’re doing the same thing. And don’t pretend that you care about them, because you don’t. If sacrificing them all gives you even an inch of ground against BLi, you wouldn’t even hesitate to kill them yourself.”

“It’s not their mess, but they’re the only ones who are willing to clean it.”

Tommy knocks off Dr. D’s last pawn. The board is empty of any chess pieces except for two. The game ends in a tie. All that’s left is their two kings.

They stare at each other, and Tommy feels disgusted. He feels absolutely revolted that this is what his brother thinks. He’s missing the point completely. 

An engine revs in the distance. In the corner of his eye he can see Cherri Coal’s truck parked right at the door. 

Neither of them makes a move to acknowledge Dr. D’s ride. They stare at each other for a long moment, and Tommy hopes his glare is half as potent as the rage he feels building within him. 

“You’re going to kill them,” he repeats.

“They’re destined to die anyway.” Dr. D waves his hands. “But my rides here, so I suppose I must get going. Good bye, Tommy.”

Tommy watches his brother leave. He’s not sure he can even call that man his brother.

-

Tommy doesn’t hear from Dr. D after that, and he thinks he prefers it that way. Dr. D is an insane fool to have such a perverse belief of righteousness. He’s going to kill those children and there’s nothing Tommy can do about it.

Every day Tommy listens to the radio and he waits for a report of their deaths. 

The kids come in every so often for supplies they can’t gleam from markets or the dumpster off of Zone One. A pattern begins to pop up with their little supply raids of his store. Every thirty days, the entire gang will show up to go shopping for new supplies. But every twenty days, Party Poison will show up, usually on their own, and will buy two cartons of hair dye- one red, one bleach blond. 

It’s kind of funny to see these supposed agents of chaos keep such a tight schedule. But he supposed those kids need some sort of stability in their life.

He doesn’t actively pay attention to the time, but he still keeps an eye out every twenty and thirty days. He doesn’t care about them, not really, but he still awaits their arrival time, wondering when he should put things on sale and if those dates should happen to align with their schedule. He waits for them for proof of their survival, proof that they hadn’t been killed under Dr. D’s guidance.

He hears all sorts of stories from Newsagogo and Dr. D’s broadcasts. The Fab Four are becoming a storm of righteousness within the desert, and people seem to be caught in the frenzy.

Tommy doesn’t believe in hope, but these kids are different. They’re different than all of those killjoys before them because they’re not imitators, they’re not frauds. He can hear the passion in Party Poison’s voice as they scream for a revolution, as they scream for riots and unity and the collapse of the tyrant, the Director. These kids would die for this cause.

It’s not hope that he’s feeling, but it is something close. He doesn’t want to entrust the fate of the desert with those children, but there’s no one else willing to step up. There’s no adult willing to do what they are. 

So Tommy waits, and he wishes that they’ll survive and that the future they’re advocating for won’t be fulfilled by their spilled blood. 

-

One day, Party Poison doesn’t show up.

Tommy Chow Mein tried to think nothing of it, and for the most part, he does. They probably forgot, or they simply couldn’t come. The Trans Am was old and barely functioning. It might’ve finally broke down. 

Tommy kept the radio station blaring though, just in case there would be a special news report from Dr. Death Defying. He’s not concerned. He just needs to know if that bastard if going to buy more red hair dye or not.

Late that day, when the sun has already set and Tommy thinks about closing up shop, Dr. D gives his infamous traffic report. “I’ve got quite the news for you, kiddos. Right off of Dreams Boulevard this afternoon, a raid took place.”

Dreams Boulevard was a route that connected to the road Tommy’s shop is stationed off of. Did Party Poison run into trouble while they were coming here?

“And of course, what’s a firefight without the flames that sparked the revolution within us? The infamous Party Poison of the Fab Four was sighted there as the sole target. It’s been reported that up to three vans of Dracs and exterminator Korse was there as well. Party Poison’s condition remains unknown, though we have no reason to believe they’ve been dusted. Keep those bad luck beads tight, and your gun even closer. Something is changing within the desert, and it’s not a sand storm that’s brewing. This is Dr. Death Defying, signing off.”

‘Burn Bright’ by Mad Gear and the Missile Kid blares. Tommy leans against the counter, trying not to get caught up in the implications of Dr. D’s words.

Party Poison’s condition remains unknown. Is he just saying that, to leave the people in suspension while he knows the answer? Or is Party Poison’s condition actually unknown, even to him? Are they missing? Is the last good thing in this fucking desert missing?

Korse was there. Dracs were there. There’s no possible way Party Poison could have survived. Korse is a class ten exterminator and second in command to the Director. He’s literally in charge of the entire Scarecrow project. If it was even just one on one with him, Party Poison has no chance of success.

There’s no report of their death. Yet.

Tommy Chow Mein doesn’t do this often, but god damn, he prays to the Phoenix Witch. He doesn’t care about those kids. He doesn’t, he just needs to make sure that their death means something so something can happen within the desert, so the desert won’t cower away like they did when the original five died. 

He prays to the Phoenix Witch. He hopes to Destroya that She’ll listen, but it’s a whole other matter to believe that She’ll answer.

That night, Tommy thinks about what he should put in the mailbox.

-

A week later, and Tommy sees the Trans Am pull up two days before they’re due. Two people leave the vehicle, and none of them have flaming red hair. 

Jet Star leads the group, biting his lip and he drums his fingers against his arms. He’s nervous. 

Ghoul follows behind, looking strangely pale. The usual malice Tommy feels for him recedes for just a moment as he watches Ghoul frantically run his fingers through his greasy hair. He’s nervous too.

Something happened during that firefight.

He watches them wordlessly walk towards the middle of the store, directly heading to the first aid section. Tommy’s stomach drops. But if they’re getting first aid, it means Party Poison is alive. There’s no other reason.

The boys are somber as they quickly loot the section. He can feel the anxiety crackling off of them like electricity. Something big happened.

They drop a load of first aid supplies on his counter. Tommy watches as they pull out their carbons, counting and counting.

“Shit,” Jet Star states, and he looks nearly on the verge of tears. “Shit, we don’t have enough.”

Ghoul glances at the items. “What can we get rid off?”

Tommy stares at the amount in Jet Star’s hand. Hm. “No, you have enough. The gauze is half off this week.” It’s not.

Jet Star absolutely lights up and dumps the carbons on the counter. “Oh, thank god.”

“I didn’t see a sign,” Ghoul mumbled as he scraps up the medical supplies. Tommy ignores him and focuses on what they have. Seems like they’re trying to treat some burns?

“Before you go,” Tommy begins and sees them stop in their tracks. Jet Star looks nervous, and Ghoul keeps his eyes on the floor. Tommy falters, just for a moment. “Is Party Poison okay?”

Jet Star rubs his cheek. “They will be, if we can get the supplies to them in time.”

Tommy waves them off, and they go running out. 

(Tommy prays yet again. Keep them alive. Keep them alive.)

-

Two weeks later, and the Fab Four walk through his doors. They look absolutely exhausted, and Tommy knows that those past few weeks have been nothing but terrible for them. 

Tommy watches with baited breath as they get out of their car. Jet Star. Kobra Kid. Fun Ghoul. Come on, where is that asshole?

The bell rings. Party Poison wanders in behind their friends, as nonchalant as ever. 

Tommy immediately sees four key differences. For one, their left arm is broken. They’re wearing a make-shift cast, and they wince in pain when their brother accidentally brushes past them.

For another, there’s a horrible burn mark on their back. It seems to have healed pretty decently, with no signs of infection, but he’s pretty sure he can still see some debris in it. The kid is only wearing a tank top, probably to avoid aggravating it, and that burn seems to be over their shoulder blades and probably reaches far, far down their back. 

The third thing he notices is that Party Poison’s hair has been cut even further. They’re wearing a gauze wrapping around their forehead and ear, and Tommy guesses that they must’ve had to butcher their hair to get to the injury. It’s equally possible that their hair had been burnt.

And the last thing he notices is in Party Poison’s right arm. There’s a tiny child in their arm that is perched against their hips, swivelling her head all around, soaking in the store and all the strange new things. 

There’s a _lot_ Tommy would like to comment on. But he focuses on the child, because that’s the biggest fucking change. 

“Party Poison,” Tommy grunts, thinking about all the rumours they’ve heard circulate over how... fluid they are. “For the love of the Witch, tell me that kid isn’t yours.”

Party Poison smirked. “And if she was?”

“Then I would feel terribly sorry that she managed to snag the worst genetics in the entire zone.”

“The worst genetics in the entire desert would be from Ghoul,” Poison corrects and, well, Tommy would have to concur. “But seriously, she’s not mine. I’m fifteen, and she’s like, three. We think.”

“Then where the hell did she come from? And why do you look like you literally walked through hellfire?”

“Aw, does Tommy Chow Mein care?” Party Poison bats their eyes as they lean against the counter. Their wince is almost imperceptible, but Tommy was expecting it.

“If anyone reappeared after a three week disappearance with a child and huge major injuries, I would still ask.”

“Fair.” Party Poison hums. “So like, three weeks ago, I got caught in this raid off of Dreams Boulevard?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Okay, so like, I was coming here to get my hair dye when Korse appears out of fucking nowhere! And this huge firefight happens and I shoot Korse a couple times and he doesn’t even nick me-“

“Not true,” Ghoul interjects. “He absolutely nicks you, like, twelve times. I fucking wrapped those burns.”

“Whatever. Anyway, we’re fighting and stuff, and I manage to kill most of the Dracs, and it’s kind of becoming a stand still. And I’m just about to make my grand escape when I happen to look inside one of those vans. Do you know what I find? A kid!”

They jiggle the Girl in their arms, and she giggles. “I found her inside! Apparently, there had been a raid south of me, and her parents were… dusted. So they took her, probably for re-education. And obviously, I’m not going to just leave behind a three year old to the clutches of BLi, so I get inside the van and I kill some more Dracs and I take the Girl. And then I hijack the van and I try to drive away, ‘cause I now have a kid to take care of and I’ve been shot a couple of times, and guess what?!”

Tommy doesn’t get a breath in before Party Poison continues. “An asshole Drac throws a fucking BOMB at me! A whole ass grenade!”

That does explain the burn marks. Tommy won’t lie, he’s pretty enraptured with this story.

“So like, I black the fuck out because the van fucking exploded. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in one of those white body bags, ‘cause BLi wants to haul off my body for dissection or the reanimation process or whatever. I manage to get out of the bag. Korse is gone, having his minions clean up his mess, I guess. So I take out the Dracs that are trying to take me in their van, and I take their gun. And then I find another body bag, and it’s the Girl’s, and she managed to get out of the explosion completely unscathed, thank the Witch.”

Party Poison takes a breath and glances at the Girl. She is completely unscathed, which is quite the miracle. “So like, I’m basically still on fire from the explosion, and now I’ve got this kid to take care, and I have no idea where I am cause now it’s night time. And all the Dracs I’ve been fighting managed to fuck up the vans they were driving cause they shot them all up when they were trying to hit me, so I had no mode of transportation. So I was basically wandering the desert for a week with the Girl.”

Jesus Christ. This story keeps getting worse and worse.

“Thankfully, I managed to stumble onto Route Guano, and some killjoy found me. Well, they nearly ran me over ‘cause I collapsed on the side of the road, but they found me and called my gang and here I am, miraculously alive and kicking!”

Party Poison kicked their leg to emphasise their point. The Girl giggled from the motion and Party Poison gave Tommy a wink. “So anyway, that’s what happened.”

“How the fuck are you still alive?”

“Trust me, I’m asking myself the same question. I think the Phoenix Witch just finds me too charming and handsome to let die.” Party Poison flipped their hair. They stepped out of the way as the rest of their gang moved up to check out.

“There’s like, five times in that one story where you should have fucking died,” Kobra Kid states, ruffling Party Poison’s head. They wince slightly but still keep up a smile.

Jet Star counts out the carbons as Ghoul cheers, “Yeah, but killjoys never die!”

Tommy watches as Party Poison shifts the Girl’s weight. “Considering your dumbass friend was literally hit by a grenade and has a broken arm, shouldn’t someone else be carrying the Girl?”

Kobra Kid takes the Girl out of Party Poison’s arm in one fluid motion. It’s sort of funny, really, because Kobra Kid looks just as uncomfortable holding the Girl as the Girl does being held by him. Party Poison pouts, but he can tell they’re sort of relieved. They’re straining themself needlessly.

“Well,” Tommy begins, “I suppose it's a good thing you managed not to die. My bet is that you have too much of a hard head to let the trauma to kill you.”

Party Poison sticks out their tongue. “Oh, ha ha.”

“Alright, Dr. D is waiting for us,” Jet Star placates. “Let’s not keep the man waiting any longer for that debrief of what the hell happened to Party Poison. The guy is having a stroke as we speak.”

Ghoul and Poison mockingly salute Jet Star. The gang begins to move outside, but Jet Star lingers for a moment. His eyes are on Tommy, and there’s something lurking within.

“Party Poison wasn’t completely honest with the story,” Jet Star begins. “Do you want to know why the Girl came out unharmed?”

Tommy Chow Mein doesn’t say a word. But he doesn’t have to, because Tommy’s known Jet for his entire life, and by extension Jet’s known him for just as long. Or, maybe Tommy’s just easier to read than he thought. But Jet Star seems to know he’s curious, and so he continues.

“Party Poison wasn’t actually in a van with the Girl when the grenade was thrown at them. They were just running away when the grenade was launched. The Girl wasn’t hurt at all because Party Poison threw their body on top of her. That’s why their back is all fucked up. They were super close to the point of detonation.” Jet Star lowered his eyes. “They only told that to Kobra Kid, but I accidentally overheard. The story they told you is what they told Ghoul and me, so keep this a secret, alright?”

Tommy gives him a small nod.

Jet Star smiles and moves to join his friends. 

Tommy closes his eyes, and thanks the Witch that that stupid bastard managed to survive. 

-

Dr. D shows up at his shop. It’s been nearly nine months since they last spoke. It’s funny, really, because despite the time gap, Tommy still hears his voice daily thanks to his broadcasts.

Tommy pulls out a game of chess, just like always. Just like always, he picks the white side and just like always, they play a game. It’s like nothing’s changed.

“The kids are convinced you hate them,” Dr. D finally states, pushing his rook to the left. “Especially Party Poison.”

Tommy laughs. “And?”

“Well, is it true?”

“You tell me.” Tommy Chow Mein did not like to lie. He’d rather people do that for him.

But Dr. D knows him as well as Tommy knows him. They fought in wars together, they were raised together. “I think you like them a lot, especially Party Poison. That kid reminds you of someone, don’t they?”

“Don’t psychoanalyse me.” 

“You asked for it.” His rook smashes into Tommy’s pawn. Dr. D sighs. “They remind you of her, don’t they?” He doesn’t have to explain who, but he still does. “Our niece.”

Tommy nearly snaps the plastic queen in his hand in half. He takes a deep breath and finishes his move. “Yeah, they do.”

Their niece that died two years ago by the hands of some asshole idol child from Battery City. Their niece who died under Dr. D’s guidance, trying to spark a revolution just like Party Poison.

Tommy wonders about their other brother, who was Dr. D’s blood relative, the one who wasn’t drafted for the Helium Wars because of his terrible sight. The one who became integrated into Battery City because of it, who’s probably some mindless drone who doesn’t know his daughter ever left Battery City, doesn’t even know she’s dead or that she is a she. 

The war either killed the soldiers who served in it or it freed them. Tommy can’t decide which one was the better end of the deal.

“It’s the hair, right?” Dr. D asks. “They’re strangely uncanny.”

It goes so much deeper than that.

They both have that blood-red hair, those mischievous eyes, that inflated ego. They both have a selfish streak, an attention-seeking disposition. They both have that never-ending need to help others, a compassion that’s too big, an empathy that leaves them feeling all too much.

Tommy left behind his feelings of compassion when she died. Compassion doesn’t do anyone any good.

And yet, when he sees that kid with that fiery red hair... well, he won’t call it compassion. But he’ll sneak them a piece of candy or two, or maybe he’ll knock the hair dye down a few carbons when he sees them coming in with those roots, or maybe the power pup will miraculously go on sale when they make their scheduled run.

“Yeah,” Tommy relents. Something angry bubbles under his skin, and he tries to keep quiet. He doesn’t blame Dr. D for her death, but sometimes he does. But now is not the time to spark that deep seated hatred. “But I do really hate Fun Ghoul.”

Dr. D laughs at that, and moves his bishop. “That’s not at all shocking.”

They lapse into silence. “They shouldn’t be heroes.”

“No. They shouldn’t. But they are.”

“Don’t fuck this up.” The board is nearly cleared. “Don’t fuck them up. Don’t let them get killed off. Don’t let what happened to _her_ happen to them.”

“I will try.” There’s not a promise, which isn’t surprising. Dr. D only promises when he’s sure he can fulfill it. 

The game ends in a tie.

-

Tommy watches the kids come and go, come and go. It’s strange, watching them grow, because they are in a constant state of change and yet they’re exactly as he remembers them. Teenagers are strange.

The Girl grows up right beside them like a little sister. Though she seems the most attached to Party Poison, which isn’t surprising. Other than Jet Star, they’re the best with younger kids.

Still, the kids change. They’re still their asshole selves, still too earnest and naive yet still hardened by the terrors they see in a society dedicated to turning them into adults. They’re not children, not to the people of the desert who view them as the next messiahs, but Tommy can’t see them as anything but that, even when Jet Star turned eighteen. They’re still kids.

Party Poison never comes in alone anymore. It’s kind of funny, because they pouted and moaned about it every time they came in for some hair dye, but no matter how much they whined, no one relented. Usually it’s the Kobra Kid that follows them in, since they both need hair dye.

This time, the door rings and Ghoul and Party Poison come in. Ghoul heads to the back immediately, but Party Poison distracts him from getting suspicious. 

Instead of heading to the dye section, Party Poison pauses in front of the counter and hums to the song on the radio. “You know what this song is about?”

”I don’t care,” Tommy says, flicking through his magazine, not actually paying attention.

“It’s about me.” Party Poison continues, because Poison would rather die than take a hint. “It’s a hate ballad, of course.”

Tommy Chow Mein wishes he was surprised by that fact, but Poison has a tendency to piss people off. “What’d you do, open your mouth?”

“Ha, ha. No, Mad Gear just hates that some kid is getting all the attention in Dr. D’s broadcasts. Also, I may have slapped him once.” Poison shrugs. “I was a little drunk and I talk with my hands and got too excited and didn’t see him there. It was by accident. But he’s easy to piss off, any way.”

Party Poison saunters towards the hair dye section. 

“Oh, shit!” Suddenly rings as clear as a bell, followed by a loud crash. Immediately Tommy is out from his counter and is following the source. Party Poison follows him absently.

Ghoul is desperately trying to clean up a broken pit. Dirt is spilled across the floor, and the small plant Tommy’s been tending to ever since Newsagogo plucked it from the Witch’s Garden looks crushed.

“Fun Ghoul.”

Fun Ghoul immediately gets to his feet and gives a sheepish look. Maybe Tommy is being too hateful of a man, but by the Witch, he fucking hates that seventeen year old. 

“You have five seconds to get out of my store.”

“What about the plant? Do I clean-“

“Four.”

“Shit!”

Ghoul is sprinting as fast as he can, tripping over the magazine rack as he bolts. Party Poison watches him with a deadpan expression.

Party Poison sets the boxes of hair dye down and starts to clean up the mess. Tommy doesn’t stop them, and watches them as they manage to put all the dirt back and carefully reroot the plant.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re a gardener,” Tommy muttered, watching as Party Poison sets the plant back on its table and pick up their hair dye.

“Sometimes I fuck around in the Witch’s Garden.” Party shrugs. “I like plants, and I sometimes weed out the garden. Seems only fair, since the Witch’s been giving so much.”

Party Poison passes Tommy some carbons. Tommy wonders what they mean by the generosity of the Witch. 

“Oh, since Ghoul broke the pot and shit…” Party Poison slips off one of their bracelets and places it in Tommy’s hand. Tommy stares at it. “Bad luck beads? You know, they suck up all the bad luck so you won’t get affected. It’s all I have on me.”

Tommy clutches the beads tightly. “I see. Now leave before either of you fucks up my shop even more.”

Party Poison scoops up the hair dye and gives a lazy salute. “Aye, aye!”

-

The plant, which had been withering under Tommy’s care, seems to spring back to life in the weeks that follow. In fact, it’s growing better than Tommy’s ever seen it, with its lush green leaves and constant new growth.

Tommy doesn’t wear the bad luck beads, but he wonders just how much magic Party Poison carries with them.

-

Tommy’s cleaning up shop when the next disaster strikes. He’s flipping the close sign when he hears Dr. D’s voice filter through the air, and a few chills manage to crawl down his spine before the man even speaks. Something’s happened.

“Bad news from the zones, tumbleweeds,” Dr. D begins, and Tommy is on high alert now. “Looks like Jet Star and the Kobra Kid had a clap with an exterminator and, uh, got themselves ghosted, dusted out on Route Guano. So it's time to hit the red-line and upthrust the volume out there. Keep your boots tight, keep your gun close, and die with your mask on if you've got to. Here is the traffic.”

Tommy stops in his tracks. They’re dead?

That can’t be right. There’s no way those two are dead. They’re too smart to get bested by a single exterminator. They can’t actually be dead. There’s no way.

Right?

-

Weeks pass by, and there’s no sign of Jet Star or Kobra Kid resurfacing. There’s no report that states they faked their death. There’s no sign that they managed to live.

Tommy contemplates closing his shop for a few days, out of respect. When his niece had died, he shut down shop for three days. And those kids weren’t family by any means, but he watched them grow up, and it feels like he should do something. He doesn’t respect Dr. D for pushing them into this life of war, but he does respect those kids.

Customers trickle down to none. It seems that everyone is affected by the news of their ghosting. After all, they represented a new future, a new rebellion that seemed so close to being achieved under them. But now they're dead.

Idly, Tommy wonders how Ghoul and Poison are fairing. Knowing them, they're probably awful messes. Ghoul has terrible abandonment issues since his parents were captured when he was young, and Party Poison just loves too easily and too hard. 

They were scheduled to come in last week, going off the usual thirty day pattern, but neither made an appearance. In fact, he hasn’t heard a single word from those kids. Had they been ghosted as well? 

Tommy doesn’t want to think about those kids. He doesn’t want to think about them dying, least of all not dying together. The whole point of a crew wasn’t just the idea of having someone there to watch your back. The point was so you wouldn’t ever be alone- in life or death.

Tommy shuts off the radio and closes up shop early. There’s nothing he can do, and it’s driving him mad. He can only imagine how Party Poison and Fun Ghoul are feeling.

-

There's scratching at the front door that catches his attention. Tommy was making the last of his cleaning rounds by restocking some of the supplies when he heard the noise. He tried to ignore it, thinking it was probably just some drunk wanting to wander in and steal something. Those assholes are why he no longer keeps his shop open 24/7.

Eventually, the scratching turns to knocking. It’s weak, but it sounds like someone is trying very hard to get his attention. 

Tommy gives up his stocking duty and heads back to the front of the store. Whoever that asshole is is about to hear an earful.

Tommy opens the door just in time for Party Poison to nearly collapse on top of him. He catches the teen with ease, considering how fucking light that kid is. He needs to lower the price of Power Pup.

But that’s getting off track. “What the hell?”

Party rips out of Tommy’s grip like he had slapped them. They stagger back at smack the back of their head against the glass. Tommy takes in the haggard sight before him.

Party Poison was obviously fresh out of a fight. Their hair is a mangled mess, there's bruises all around their neck and shoulders, and- oh shit. They’ve been fucking stabbed.

Party Poison sways idly, clutching their stomach, trying to stop the blood loss. “Hey…”

“What the fuck happened to you?” Tommy guides them as best he can, pushing them towards the first aid. They need to treat that before the kid fucking bleeds out in his store.

“Korse.” 

The name sends shivers down Tommy’s spine. “Give me the entire story.”

“Korse gave me the stab wound,” they mumble as they trail their fingers over the surface of one of the shelves, accidentally leaving behind a blood trail from their blood soaked fingers. “Those weird marks on my neck aren’t, ha,”

They’re delirious. Tommy needs to keep them talking. He pulls out some of the medical supplies and tears away at the seals. Party Poison looks seconds away from collapsing, and Tommy quickly pushes them to the ground to get them to lay down before they pass out.

“Start from the beginning, asshole, or I won’t fucking help you.”

“Okay…” Party Poison stares blankly at the ceiling. They’re deathly quiet for a moment, and Tommy’s heart rate spikes at the idea that they just fucking died. “I was working at DJ Hot Chimp’s nightclub…”

Their words make Tommy breathe a sigh of relief, until he actually processed them. This is a kid. Why are they working at a strip club?

“We needed some extra money, ‘cause we’re running out of supplies, so I went to the night club to rake in some extra cash. Some asshole played too rough with me and nearly choked me out. I got the money from him, but he sure was mean.” Party Poison plays with the hem of their shirt. “He gave me those bruises on my neck. But whatever, ‘cause I got my money.”

Tommy Chow Mein wrapped some bandages around their wound and applied as much pressure as he dared. Party winced in pain, but didn’t otherwise react.

“Anyway, it was the end of my shift when I got a call on my radio. Korse was calling me, saying he wanted to meet me at the Hotel Oblivion. Said he’s got Kobra and Jet as hostages. Said to come alone or else he’ll blow their brains out. Ghoul already figured I was gonna stay out late ‘cause of the job, so I snuck on over to the Hotel alone.”

Tommy wants so badly to smack them, but he doesn’t want to aggravate any wounds. Party Poison keeps their eyes on the ceiling. “I go an’ meet Korse, and Korse immediately begins to fight me. Kobra and Jet ain’t even around. It was a fucking trap, obviously, but I still took it ‘cause, well, nobody found their bodies, so maybe Korse wasn’t lyin.” Party Poison’s slurring their words badly now, and Tommy can barely make out what they’re saying. “But he was. So he fought with me, and I held my own pretty good, until he took out a knife and stabbed me. Hurt like a fucking bitch. I managed to knock ‘im out with a lamp, ‘cause he broke my gun, and I fled as quickly as I could.”

“And you came here?”

“‘Cause Ghoul and I needed supplies, and we didn’t have any medical type at the diner. And I just got paid, so I figured I could get the goods and go.”

Tommy takes some deep breaths. They’re line of thinking is pretty reasonable, considering. His store was the closest after their diner from Hotel Oblivion. “You’re real fucking stupid for taking that call.”

“I know, I know, it was real fucking dumb and I shouldn’t have done that. What if I’d died? Then Ghoul’s be all alone with just the Girl. We’re going crazy without Jet and Kobra, and I can’t imagine he’d do well with his entire crew fucked.”

Party Poison rubbed their face, slathering themselves in their still wet blood. He really should clean the kid up. “I was so fucking stupid, but I’m so desperate, Tommy… I want them back. I need them back. They can’t be dead, I just got them. I just got to reunite with my brother, I just got to meet Jet Star, I just got to make all these great memories. I can’t do this without them, I can’t…”

Party Poison doesn’t cry, but they sound like they’re going to. Their eyes are glassy and they shake like a leaf as sobs rack their system, but not a single tear drops down their cheeks. “I can’t do this without them… they found me in the desert, I ain’t known a life without them. I can’t do this without my brothers, I can’t.”

Tommy finishes bandaging the wound. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been any good at grief counseling- he’s barely good with his own emotions. He can’t help.

He smooths out Party Poison’s bangs as gently as he can. “I know it’s hard, Kid, but you gotta move one. The toughest thing you can do in life is keep living, keep breathing, keep moving forward. You know Jet and Kobra would want you to.”

Party Poison lays an arm over their face, and they sob. This is the rawest Tommy has ever seen them, the most vulnerable they’ve ever allowed themself to be. It’s horrifying to see the child who is sparking a revolution be just that: a little kid. It’s horrifying because it’s reminding Tommy just how deep these kids are in, just how terrible this society is for letting good kids go to war and die.

“You gotta keep moving,” Tommy whispers as Party Poison chokes on their own wailings. “You gotta keep going.”

It’s funny. That’s the same advice he gave to his niece all those years ago, when she lost her friends in a gruesome rave.

The child reminds him of his niece now more than ever. His now dead niece, who died for the same cause that child is fighting for, who died under Dr. D’s guidance. Who died a gruesome death just like her friends, just like Party Poison’s friends. 

Tommy sits there with the kid, and he is filled to the brim with emotions he can’t identify. Because this happened to his niece, and this happened to Party Poison, and now the kid’s friends are as dead as her. Tommy doesn’t make another sound, doesn’t dare let another word slip, but it wouldn’t matter, anyway. Party Poison is too busy choking on their own tears to hear them out.

It’s a moment Tommy won’t forget.

The kid eventually cries themself to sleep. It’s horrible but Tommy’s half thankful the kid wears themself out. He can’t help them anymore except offer some bandages. There’s no bandages for emotional wounds, though.

He leaves the kid to go finish his inventory. Every so often, he checks up on them.

Tommy spends his night feeling a swirl of rage and depression. Party Poison’s generation is truly fucked, and that fact is horrible in so many ways, and Dr. D wants this kid to lead a revolution, a succession. Dr. D doesn’t care about the collateral- Kobra Kid and Jet Star. The aftermath is secondary. Two more children are dead in this never ending war, and two more will probably die from the aftermath.

Tommy prays to the Witch that the two kids are just missing. He doesn’t think She’ll answer- She rarely does.

-

He goes back to check on the kid, but all he finds is a hastily scrubbed spot of blood and a couple of bad luck bracelets and carbons. The sun is beginning to rise, and Tommy sees footprints dusting the desert sand outside his doors. They went home.

Tommy finishes cleaning up the mess and curses the kid. There’s not much malice in his words, though.

-

On the radio next week, Tommy listens to Dr. D announce that the party at the Nest was crashed by the Fab Four. Apparently, Jet Star and Kobra Kid decided to stage their grand resurrection that day. There was nearly a riot when the desert learned that two of their beloved heroes returned from the dead.

Jet Star is interviewed by the doctor. Kobra Kid and him got in a nasty fight in a market off of Route Guano that was raided by some Dracs, lead by an exterminator. The Dracs chased them out and a huge firefight broke out. Jet Star and the Kobra Kid managed to survive and kill off the Dracs, but they got lost.

Since they had just gotten supplies at the market, they were able to live off them for some time until Cherri Cola found them on one of his message runs.

Tommy sighs and gets back to scrubbing. Idly, he thanks Her. 

He’s thankful they’re back, but he won’t say that to their faces. Maybe, just maybe, those kids might survive the desert, they might cheat death and destroy BLi despite all the odds against them. Those kids seem to constantly be working off miracles.

Tommy doesn’t hope. But, he thinks, he can believe.

-

The children grow older. Jet Star is nineteen, Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid are eighteen, and Party Poison is seventeen. The Girl is turning six soon, and that band of assholes keeps showing up to get her a birthday gift.

Tommy watches them grow older and older. They’re still kids, he thinks. Still naive, still too optimistic in a future they’re certainly going to die for and never see. They’re just a bunch of teenagers trying to bend the world to their will. He won’t think of them as anything but kids for a long while.

The Girl is in great spirits. It’s obvious how much they all love her, and how much she loves them back. It’s kind of sickeningly sweet how much they care for each other.

Tommy watches, and he doesn’t intervene. He doesn’t like these kids, not by a long shot, and certainly doesn’t care about their fate. But no kid should die in a war that wasn’t caused by them, and Tommy does quietly wish they would give up while they’re still ahead.

They won’t. They’d rather become martyrs then quitters.

Tommy let’s them play hero, but he still curses Dr. D as often as he hears the man broadcast praises over the Fab Four.

-

It’s a week before the Girl turns six does the end of an era begin to draw close.

The unthinkable finally happened- Korse kidnapped the child in a firefight with the Fab Four. The kids are still alive, as far as Tommy understands, but they have to lick their wounds before they can strike back. And Tommy knows they’ll strike back.

The Girl means everything to them. If the Fab Four are the inspiration for the desert, then she’s the generation that inspires them. Because the generation they’re fighting for isn’t their own, it’s her’s. They want her to have a future, a future they probably don’t see themselves apart of.

And now she’s gone.

There is a storm churning in the desert sands. Something much bigger is about to come.

The Girl is about to spark something horrible.

-

Dr. D comes in just a few days after the radio announcement of the Girl’s capture. There is something somber in the air as they set up the chess board, as they take their usual places and pretend that everything is normal.

“What are they planning?” Tommy asks, but he already knows. Dr. D and Party Poison have been rallying help from the desert to save the Girl. Tommy has a vague idea of what they’re planning, and even that inkling of a suspicion is enough to make him nervous.

“You already know,” Dr. D states, pushing a rook to the left.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“They want to break into the facility BLi is holding the Girl in. They want to get inside Battery City, break into the headquarters in the center of the city, and break the Girl out.”

“You realise what that means, right?” Dr. D’s tone sounded almost resigned, as if he knew it was a horrible plan but didn’t care enough to stop them, and that made Tommy’s blood boil. “That’s suicide.”

“Not necessarily. They’re rallying quite the amount of help in the desert. If they pull off a covert mission, it could work.”

“Do you even want it to?”

The words stung but Tommy still spoke them. They’ll become martyrs if they do this, because there is no doubt in Tommy’s mind that they’ll die. They will get publicly executed no matter how hard they try. The facility is in the center of Battery CIty- the odds of breaking into the ones on the outskirts or in the desert are already pretty slim, but inside the city?

They will die. And right now, Dr. D doesn’t seem to care.

“Of course not.” The words don’t seem genuine, though Tommy isn’t sure if he’s simply blinded by rage at Dr. D’s passiveness or not. “But there’s just no convincing them to turn back.”

“Stop sounding so resigned. Tell them no. No child is worth four lives. And they will die if they try this.” Tommy moves his bishop and snarls, “But I’d bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Tommy-“

“You recruit all these people all throughout the years to emulate the original killjoys, those first five that served in the wars with us. I’m so stupid for not realising this sooner- those people died, Dr. D. Those people are dead, gone, ghosted by BLi. They became martyrs, dying for a cause they believe in. And now you want to make saints out of those children, don’t you?”

Dr. D’s silent, his expression impenetrable. His apathy only sends more fire through Tommy’s veins.

“You don’t care about them, you never have! And now that this opportunity has risen, you’re going to use it to pander a story to the masses! You want them to go on this suicide mission, and you want them to fail so they could become saints to praise to the future! You want them to be a story of inspiration! You want them to die for your own gain.”

Tommy’s trying so hard to not just throw away the board. He slams his rook on the farthest square and stares Dr. D right in the eyes. “You’re a sick, sick man, Dr. D. You want to kill the only good in this entire desert all for your little war games.”

“They want to die,” Dr. D finally says. He does not defend himself, doesn’t dare deny the accusations Tommy throws. Because Tommy has watched this man grow old with him, and he has watched war twist his brother into nothing but rot and decay and wretchedness. He has seen the insides of this man and knows there’s nothing pretty on the inside. He has watched him corrode like a battery, watched his morals crumble in his dreams for moral superiority. “It’s their choice.”

“No, it’s not. They’re kids, you bastard. They’re not soldiers you can just throw away when you think it’s best to dispose of them. They’re not toys. They’re humans, and they’re angry, and they’re letting their emotions drive them. Hold them back. Make them wait. That child is fucking dead, and make them understand that. Make them understand that there’s no point in spilling their own blood for a corpse.”

“I can’t,” Dr. D simply states.

“Yes, you can! If your heart wasn’t so shrivelled and black, you should be throwing yourself at them, begging them to quit! They can do so much good, Doc. Don’t let them die just to make a political statement.”

“They don't listen. They’re going to throw away their lives, and they do not care.” Dr. D angrily moves his queen. “I’m just going to make sure their death isn’t pointless! I’m giving their deaths meaning. BLi will douse them in gasoline and strike the flames of their decay, but I’ll make sure their immolation will leave scorch marks on the paper of history. I’m giving their story meaning.”

“Shut up!” Tommy wants to rip his hair out. “Your pretty poetry might work with hypnotising the masses, but just say it as it is! You want to profit off their suffering! You want to capitalise off their deaths! Say it!”

Dr. D’s eyes are cold.

Tommy shoves a finger in his chest. “Just admit it. You want to capitalise from their suicide.”

The store is deathly quiet. The only sound is the thrum of Tommy’s pulse and nothing more. 

“I want to win,” Dr. D begins carefully. “I want to make sure BLi will crumble. I want people to see the atrocities they’re committing. Those kids are dead set on dying. If they’re going to die, then I’m going to milk as much as I can out of them before they completely waste their full potential. So yes, I am going to profit off their deaths, and so will the entire desert. Because they’ll see what BLi has done, they’ll see those atrocities and then they’ll see that BLi murdered four children in cold blood, children who were dying to save another. They’ll see the only good in their miserable lives be ripped away from them, and they’ll see martyrs. Those children will become the saints the desert community needs to stir a revolution! The Fab Four can bring about a revolution after their death, unlike the True Killjoys.”

“You’re sick.” He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re disgusting. These are kids. You’re letting them die for a message? BLi’s going to light them on fire and watch them burn, but you’re going to just douse them in the gasoline for them! You’re treating them as pawns!”

“They’ll become heroes-“

“Is that what they want? Don’t you want them alive? And well? And happy?”

“I want them to become what they were meant to be.”

“Corpses?”

“Legends.”

“Do you even care that they’re going to die? Or was this just all apart of your big plan- build up the reputation of the Fab Four, create Party Poison into this messiah figure, promote them as the future of the zones, and then just watch them get killed off just to invoke some sort of sick righteousness amongst the desert people? You raised them as pigs to be slaughtered, didn’t you?”

Dr. Death Defying slams his rook down.

“Checkmate.”

Dr. Death Defying has won.

Dr. D offers Tommy a cold stare. “Tommy, they were born to die. I’m just going to make use of this opportunity.”

Dr. D rolls away just as Cherri’s pick up truck comes rumbling up to the store. The man stares at Tommy just as he’s about to leave. “I can’t change fate. These kids want to die, and who am I to change their desires? Don’t bother praying for them.”

Tommy listens to the door slam shut.

It’s so quiet. 

He flips the chessboard, sending all the pieces sprawling. They clatter to the floor, plastic clamouring against the cement.

A few pawns roll to the spot Party Poison had nearly bled out at. Tommy drops to his knees and stares at the pieces of this catastrophe.

Dr. D is a sick, sick man.

-

Tommy Chow Mein keeps the radio off for the next few days. He can’t stand the sound of his brother’s grating voice. He can’t stand listening to Party Poison beg for help. 

He can’t stand to listen to them plan their own demise (and he can’t stand listening to his brother egg them on).

-

He turns the radio back on, reluctantly. He needs to know the whereabouts of Drac patrols, however, and Dr. D always has them listed in his traffic reports. Newsagogo’s station had been demolished by Korse in a terrible clap, and now there’s only one person Tommy can listen to until she comes back on air.

There’s not a single soul in sight as he listens to the station. Traffic in his shop has been sparse ever since the Girl was captured.

Suddenly, Dr. Death Defying’s voice fizzles out. A static tendril coils around the store. Tommy smacks the machine; the radio has a habit of suddenly losing signal. Or did Dr. D have to change his channel again?

The static stops.

There’s a pause, quiet and short, until a new voice fills the air. Icicles pierce his skin as the voice croons.

“My name is Korse, the Scarecrow that I’m sure you’ve heard stories about. You never could have seen me, otherwise you’d certainly be a corpse,” the voice began simply, with an air of ice and his words dripping with vileness. “I have quite the information to share with you desert rats, information you’ll find particularly important and relevant. Information regarding your little leader, the one with a penchant for red and flamboyancy. Party Poison?”

Tommy’s mind is a whirlwind. What happened to Dr. D? What happened to the station? Can everyone hear this? What about Party Poison?

“Your leader’s been keeping a nasty secret from you,” he continues. “Haven’t you ever wondered where that turbulent fool came from? One day, the rebel just appeared, and did you ever question it?”

“I’ll tell you where your precious messiah came from. Battery City. They came right from the heart, the very center of BLI’s headquarters. They were no ordinary civilian, no bumbling child. Your hero was an exterminator.” A city name drips from Korse’s lips, and the name sent shivers down Tommy’s spine because he knows that name. Everyone knows that name as the title of the child idol exterminator who left a trail of carnage in their wake as they roamed the desert under Korse’s command.

“You heard me. They were an exterminator. At first, they had been a Drac, but they had been so great at mindlessly killing that they were promoted to becoming an exterminator. If they’d stayed behind a little longer, they would have been promoted into becoming a Scarecrow, just like me. Isn’t that rather interesting?

“Your hero is not a hero. What blood stains their hands? Not the villains of the story. It is not the blood of Dracs that they killed to supposedly protect you. It is the blood of your peers. It is the blood of your brothers and sisters, your friends, family, and lovers. They have killed your people, ruthlessly slaughtered countless desert rats like you, with no remorse nor mercy.

“Do you think they are capable of changing such a nature? A nature filled with carnage and bloodshed? A nature of viewing others as dispensable, viewing human lives meaningless? Do you believe they can change into someone worth listening to?

“Do you believe your leader to be someone other than a weapon against you?

“You’re a fool to think so. They are not your hero. They are your villain. Do you wish to destroy BLI? Do you wish to be rid of those whom you deem as senseless murderers? Do you wish to dispose of me? Then you must destroy them as well in your dreams of justice. Two hundred and sixty-seven of your friends and family lay rotting in the sand by their hand. Did you know that’s the third highest kill count in the history of BLI?

“I implore you to listen to my words. You may choose not to believe me, but I hope you will not remain blind. If you find my doings unjust, then you must not become a hypocrite and keep your back facing your leader. Because Party Poison won’t hesitate to stab your back as they did to the first two hundred and sixty-seven of you.

“This is Korse, signing off with one last message. Do not trust a weapon you never loaded.”

Tommy stands there as static rings in his ears. He listened to every word spoken, but he can’t process them quite right. That shit can’t be true. No.

Party Poison is a child- they’re seventeen, there’s no way they could have been an exterminator. There’s no way there’s that much blood on their hands, not after all their talks of peace and unity and prosperity. Not after their defiance against BLi, their smouldering hatred for the company. They couldn’t possibly be their own worst enemy.

(But in the back of Tommy’s mind, he knows the truth, because the timeline adds up perfectly. This exterminator Idol disappears into the desert and then weeks later Party Poison comes into power. Party Poison was still suffering from withdrawals when he had first seen them. And after hearing some of the reports of their missions, their success makes more sense understanding that they had an inside man help them.)

Tommy’s anger is smouldering hot. Party Poison is the terror that destroyed so many lives. Party Poison had been Korse’s little pet. Party Poison had terrorized the desert for years, becoming the youngest exterminator ever and racking up the third highest kill count.

That idol that killed his niece?

That was them.

Party Poison killed his niece.

Tommy pounds his fist on the counter. Party Poison’s a murderer. And Dr. Death Defying wants to turn them into a saint.

-

Immediately, the news travels fast. People revoke their offers to help the Fab Four as the story of their carnage grows and grows. The story spreads like a wildfire, catching its tendrils on the people of the desert and destroying any shred of faith the people had in the Fab Four.

Tommy wants to laugh at the irony of the situation, because there’s just so much. The fact that the people’s messiah was the exact exterminator that murdered so many of their peers? The fact that the person Dr. D was trying to turn into a saint had their demons hung on a clothesline for the whole world to see?

But Tommy doesn’t laugh, because this isn’t a joke. Because people have died, are dying, and will continue to die.

-

Party Poison confirms the story one day on Dr. D’s broadcast, somber, not even bothering to cower or deny or offer up a defense.

The desert riots.

-

If Dr. D had more time, Tommy was certain that the mad man would have been able to spin this story into something positive. Party Poison was a victim of the corporation just like everyone else, that they showed true strength by breaking away from the chains BLi latched on to them, and that they proved that BLi wasn’t infalliable.

But Dr. D didn’t have enough time.

And likely, Party Poison didn’t want to go along with that either. Dr. D had a way of twisting the truth into something unrecognisable, and if Party Poison was truly remorseful of their sins, Tommy knows that they wouldn’t want to be perverted into a false hero.

-

Tommy’s anger simmers and simmers. He’s not sure who he’s the most enraged at- Party Poison or Dr. Death Defying. Party Poison, for carrying out the actions that killed his niece, or Dr. D, for likely knowing about this and keeping it under wraps.

But his blood boils every time he thinks of them.

-

Two weeks later, the Fab Four arrive at his shop.

Jet Star is missing an eye. Fun Ghoul has a strange scar that carved into his jawline. Kobra Kid’s wrist is in a sling. There are bruises all along Party Poisons neck, black spots that peek out above their jacket collar. All of them look absolutely exhausted, and Tommy’s anger begins to cool.

They are as silent as a funeral procession, no idle chatter or jokes like the old days. Jet Star doesn’t hum, Fun Ghoul doesn’t whistle, Kobra Kid doesn’t tap, and Party Poison doesn’t sing under their breath. The only sound for miles is the gentle lull of pop music from the radio and the scuffs of boots on the floor.

They split up without a single word, working efficiently like a well oiled machine. Ghoul and Kobra check out some of the gasoline cans, Jet busies himself with the first aid aisle, and Party Poison plants themself next to the food.

Tommy doesn’t dare utter a word as he watches them work. He doesn’t kick them out, which seems to surprise Kobra, since the kid continues to flick his gaze over to him every few moments. He simply waits and watches.

Emotions are churning within Tommy as he watches them. He doesn’t know how to feel, how to react to this entire, fucked up situation. 

Party Poison finished first. They gently, gently place every food item on the counter. They keep their eyes away from Tommy as they dig for some carbons in their pocket. Hesitantly, they slide them on the counter.

Tommy taps a can of Power Pup. “These are twelve carbons.”

“The signs said six.”

“Twelve for _you_.”

Party Poison sucks in a deep breath. There’s a moment of silence, and Tommy can feel every pair of eyes right on him. It seems the tension the zones been carrying since the discovery of their false hero follows even the Fab Four like a torrential rain cloud.

Poison leans on the counter, and there’s a certain way their eyes gleam. There’s resignation yet desperation in their expression, and something that runs much deeper.

“Tommy, please. I’m gonna die anyway, so you won’t be seeing my mug ever again after this. Just… let me buy some food, and you can judge me and my sins all you want once I’m dead.”

Tommy stares at Party Poison, stares at the child who’s served in a war on both sides, who’s seen the good and evil of both sides, who’s seen all the world has to offer. Who killed more people at eleven years old then most men in their entire lives, who has blood that stains their hands like their hair, a crimson red trail that can’t be scrubbed away no matter how much soap is used.

But Tommy can’t see a murderer in them, not in that moment. The only thing he sees is a child who has done wrong but who wants so badly to atone for it, a child who carries the weight no adults are willing to shoulder. All Tommy sees is that red hair and mischievous eyes and all he can think of is his dead niece, the same little girl who got killed by that same little child in front of him.

But that was nearly five years years ago. Party Poison was barely thirteen at that point. 

The realization doesn’t exactly provide peace for any of the emotions he’s feeling. It doesn’t wipe away any of the resentment and rage he’s feeling. But for some reason, it does provide a sort of clarity.

Because Party Poison was a victim, too. Because Party Poison was a child soldier brainwashed into believing in a cause they nearly died for again and again. Because Party Poison was still a child, still serving in the same god damned war, just on the other side of the battlefield. Because Party Poison was still just a child soldier.

There’s a lot of things Tommy Chow Mein could have said in that moment. There’s a lot of things he wishes he said. But he doesn’t say any of them.

He simply pushes the carbons back at Party Poison. “I don’t charge corpses.”

He goes back to reading his magazine, ignoring the incredulous look Party Poison gives him. Not another word transpires between them, and Party Poison quietly scoops the food off the counter as the others begin to make their way to pay.

-

He watches the car disappear over the horizon, and he knows this will be the last time he’ll ever see them.

-

The week that follows is dead silent. The radio broadcast are bland- not even a Drac has been sighted since last Monday. There is a certain air of ‘calm before the storm’. 

A tension lapses over the entire desert. Something big is coming.

Tommy anxiously listens to the radio every day, listening for the list of dead, listening for their names.

-

On the eighth day, Mad Gear and the Missile Kid’s ‘Our Lady of Sorrows’ gets interrupted by a breaking news report. 

“The day is March 22nd, 2019,” Dr. D begins, his voice warbling ever so slightly. Good. That fucker deserves to feel remorse. “Mark this day as the end of an era. The era of the fabulous killjoys. I’m sad to announce that in the Fab Four’s selfless endeavour to save their wonderful friend from the clutches of BLi, all four of them lost their life. Party Poison, Jet Star, Kobra Kid, and Fun Ghoul now lay slaughtered at the hands of none other than the mega corporation that’s been plaguing us for decades. But as they say, killjoys never die. Although they’re dead and gone, it’s up to us to carry on their legacy. It’s up to us to carry the torch they lit and burn bright with the flames of revolution.”

There’s a pause, and if he strains his ears, he can hear the sounds of sniffling. It’s not Dr. D, he knows for sure. Is it the Girl? Show Pony? Papers shuffle and cut off the pitiful sounds.

“Remember kids: BLi hasn’t won until every single one of us has our blood staining the desert sand. Keep your gun tight, and your eyes out for trouble. Remember the fallen, and remember them for what they stood for.” Dr. D makes a strange hum. “Though they’re ghosted, they’re not really gone, are they? As Mad Gear poetically once said: ‘how wrong we were to think that immortality meant never dying’. This is Dr. Death Defying, signing off.”

Tommy… doesn’t know what to feel. He feels as if he’s in a dream, like none of this is quite real.

He knew those kids were going to die. He knew it from the moment they first stepped into his shop, when Poison was fifteen and Kobra and Ghoul were sixteen and Jet was only seventeen. He knew it last week, when he watched them drive off, that he wasn’t ever going to see them again.

But hearing that? Hearing the report that solidified they had died? It was completely different.

(Because maybe, just maybe, Tommy believed that they were going to cheat death one more time. Because every other time the odds had been tipped against them, they always managed to make it out on time. Tommy didn’t hope, but this time, maybe he did.)

The report echoed in his ears. They had been ghosted. Dusted. Killed. Those children were dead. They were dead. More casualties to tally up in the horrifying aftermath.

-

Tommy radios Dr. D frantically after that broadcast. He’s not even sure what he wants to say- well, he knows for certain he’ll be cursing him out. If Dr. D had cared even an inch more, he could have stopped any of this from happening. 

He’s already had customers come in and herald the Fab Fours heroics, as if the desert didn't just turn their backs on them and was the reason they were six feet under. And his blood had already been boiling with the realization that this war had just killed more children, and those hypocrites did nothing to improve his mood.

Was he the only person who didn’t see them as saints? As martyrs? As heroes? Was he the only god forsaken person who saw them as they were: children? Child soldiers?

He called and called and called. Show Pony answers his calls every time. They keep up a cheery disposition and their sunniness grates on Tommy’s nerves. The only person in that god forsaken radio shack he ever respected was Cherri Cola. Where the fuck was that man? He’s always the one to answer his calls.

“Hello, hello, Tommy C!” Show Pony shouts, and he can imagine them twirling the cord that hooks the radio to the transmission.

“What the hell happened to Cherri Cola’?” He spits.

There’s a bout of silence, and oh god, that’s ten times worse than the useless chatter Show Pony likes to fill the air with. Show Pony never, ever shuts up.

“He’s… well, he and Dr. D and Party got into a big fight a few weeks back… I’m sure you know why…” Tommy can guess. “And well… he stormed off and never came back. Because, well, he… I guess he had been captured by BLi, because the Girl saw him as a Drac when she was captured.”

Oh.

Tommy’s stomach coils.

“Seems like everyone’s just getting picked off,” Show Pony mutters, and that’s when something in Tommy clicks.

Show Pony was good friends with the Fab Four, because they weren’t nearly ten years older than them like Cherri Cola. They were maybe nineteen, same age as Jet Star, and they were inseparable once the Fab Four and Pony managed to get together. 

Tommy softens, ever so slightly, because he may be a flawed man, a hard and greedy person, but he isn’t a piece of shit. “Tell the Doctor I need to speak to him. And… I’m sorry.”

He can practically hear the smile in Show Pony’s voice. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too. I know you had a soft spot for those kids, too. ‘Specially Party Poison.”

Tommy huffs and hangs up on Show Pony without another word.

-

Tommy closes down shop for three days.

He simmers inside the shop as Dr. D refuses to answer him, because the man refuses to answer for his crimes. He lead those children to be slaughtered, and he won’t recognise how sick he’s become.

He kicks the counter. There is no revolution. There is only a war, one that continues to take and take and take until there will be no one left on either side. And no cares, because self destruction is exactly what the people of the desert want to do, and the people of BLi are too drugged to even care.

Tommy Chow Mein shouldn’t have expected a different outcome, because this exact same thing has happened a million different times before. Dr. D recruits some bright eyed rebels to his cause; the rebels pretend to care about the rebellion and Dr. D preaches to the masses about destroying BLi; the rebels end up tragically dying. It’s a cycle that will forever continue.

The Fab Four were the only outlier, the only flicker of true passion in this entire desert. They were the only ones who truly understood the revolution, who were just as idealistic and passionate as the original killjoys. They were the only good thing and they were snuffed out just like everyone else.

Tommy Chow Mein has seen the rise and fall of hundreds of killjoys. Every time he’s watched them fail. For some god damned reason, he let himself believe. He let himself hope that this time would be different.

Tommy listens to Dr. D’s traffic report, listens to the list of dead after another firefight, and he shuts it off. 

He hates killjoys.

**Author's Note:**

> if you can’t tell, I end up borrowing ideas from all of my fics lol
> 
> anyway i doubt any of this could even remotely be considered canon, but whatever. i never read the comics so deal with my interpretation of tommy and dr. d.
> 
> me, young: wow the killjoys were teens? that’s so cool!!  
> me, now: oh god they were c h I l d r e n


End file.
